Descending Orpheus
by Spykester
Summary: The war has ended, evil has triumphed and it is not only Voldemort who is reaping the rewards.
1. Default Chapter

**Descending Orpheus**

**Disclaimer: **Characters are property of J.K. Rowling. Story by me. Harassment by the FBI.

**Author's Note:** I realise that the core idea of this story is not the most original, but this is meant to explore a dark side of Harry hitherto never explored much cannon wise. It's a kind of 'what if?' since I believe J.K.R said Harry would never be tempted to the dark side. I wanted to produce a very interesting and different piece and I hope that you will find it so. 

**Summery:** The war has ended, evil has triumphed and it is not only Voldemort who is reaping the rewards. 

**Rating:** R – Yes, HP/DM slash and implied HP/Voldemort. Implied because it squicks me, although that is actually the intention. If you have any objections whatsoever then leave and don't just leave a flame telling me I'm sick and evil because I will merely look at it, laugh, save it to my computer so I can laugh it again and again and again. 

The entire country was in the grip of one of the coldest, harshest winters in living memory. For the first time ever the wizarding world and the Muggle world was united over a common enemy that were both equally familiar with. Snow and icy winds battered dwellings indiscriminately. Although the most essential of things needed for basic survival were thankfully in not too short supply, communication in both worlds was extremely hard due to the awful weather conditions that showed no signs of abating. 

However, there was a difference in what the two communities saw as the cause of this sudden transformation in the weather – which had in fact been getting steadily warmer through the years. The Muggles thought it was something they called 'Global Warming' which often caused extreme weather, or so they claimed. The wizarding community had a darker theory – they believed it was all being caused by the detestable figure that had effectively enslaved them all – Lord Voldemort. 

For the war that had dragged on for so many years had finally reached it's conclusion that very summer, when Voldemort had finally struck down the opposing fighters of a group no one had heard about before then called the Order of the Phoenix, led by Albus Dumbledore. Voldemort had known their every weakness and utilised it to full advantage and when the battle was won, declared himself ruler before the still cooling corpses around him, Death Eaters cheering in victory. 

So many died – Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black (cleared of his crimes the previous year, mostly thanks to his Godson ironically), Minerva McGonagall, Mundungus Fletcher and countless others. All gone at the flick of enemy wands. 

If that was not tragedy enough, there was one finally and most cruel twist to the story as told by the very few survivors afterward. No, indeed it was not. 

For laughing and capering at the side of the Dark Lord was a figure that couldn't be made out in the sudden, descending dark, until a bolt of lightening flared from the approaching tempest and lit the world for just a second. It was enough; there was absolutely no mistaking him at all, as one of the witnesses was the figure's closest friend Ronald Weasley. 

It was the Boy Who Lived, the young man whom everyone has assumed was destined to save them all from the evil of Voldemort and had instead stood at his right hand and betrayed them all. Those poor, blind, countless many who had trusted the boy implicitly. 

Harry Potter had helped orchestrate the ruin of the wizarding world as wrought by the Dark Lord's inhuman hands. 

Despite it's use as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix (although that status had always been unofficial), Hogwart's castle had emerged from the war relatively unscathed. But it had changed greatly in regard to its interior design now that the Dark Lord Voldemort himself resided there. 

Sat at the window of his old dormitory room, looking out over the glistening, snow covered grounds, Harry Potter remembered. He remembered moments of happiness having occurred here, that he had at one time been friends with the boys who had slept here too. His face twisted into a very ugly scowl. Such memory were useless shards of a shattered past that Harry did not care to think about too much, but lately it seemed to have occurred with a frequency he didn't like. It was almost like watching a cartoon over and over; cold and artificial images that simply refused to go away. 

"Why are you here?" A soft hissing voice asked him out of the darkness, causing Harry to jump. Standing behind him, dressed in ebony robes was Lord Voldemort, lidless orbs of crimson standing out against the dark and staring intently at the young man who had betrayed everything he had once believed in, as much to Voldemort's surprise as any. 

"I um..." Harry leapt down from the stone windowsill and bowed respectively to his master. "I like to come up here sometimes." It sounded very corny and silly, but one important rule when asked a question by Voldemort, no matter what it would pertain to, was Do NOT Lie. 

Voldemort gave a low laugh, as hard and cold as the wizard was himself. 

"How charming," He hissed, voice dripping sarcasm. Harry felt a stab of fear. He wanted to back away but the bravery he had once been ever so famous for (ha ha!) made him stand his ground. 

"I would advise, Harry. That you curb such impulses. To remember the past is to honour it and I hardly think one like yours, before you joined me at least, is worth such honour. Don't you agree?" It wasn't really a question. Harry nodded. Voldemort suddenly strode forward until they were barely inches apart and whispered in Harry's ear, "Good boy." Harry's face broke into a genuine smile and he murmured a thanks. 

The Dark Lord turned and left as silently as he had come. The young, black haired man, now 21, stared after him. Voldemort practically regarded him, as a prince in his court, if you could call it that and despite his occasional wandering into the memories of the past Harry Potter regretted absolutely nothing. 

Draco Malfoy breezed through the corridors of what had once been his school and now was his home with his trademark Malfoy arrogance. 

_Where on earth is he? _

Draco hoped he hadn't gone back to that damned tower (once Gryffindor Tower) again. Draco could never fathom why Potter insisted going up there at all – for one thing Voldemort did not like it, saw it was a show of weakness which was discouraging when displayed by his right hand wizard. For another thing Harry never liked Draco to accompany him, as if because he had been a Slytherin it was some kind of intrusion into sacred Gryffindor territory. Draco had once tried to point out to Harry that the whole castle was now under the control of the very last descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. The dangerous look Harry had given him had effectively stamped that subject as off limits and Draco had never dared to mention it again. 

He reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower when he was startled by a figure coming out of it where once a portrait had hung in front of the entrance. It occurred to Draco for the first time that he didn't know what had happened to the Fat Lady; most likely she had been burned along with most of the other portraits. A few had remained (the less uppity ones), as had the House Elves. 

The rest of the castle was virtually unrecognisable to what it had once been. 

"Draco," Voldemort intoned silkily. Draco hastily bowed and replied, "My Lord." 

"Searching for the elusive Harry again?" Enquired the Dark Lord, tone suddenly hardening. 

"Yes," He suddenly laughed uneasily. "Isn't it funny, this is the place he is most likely to be and it is always the last place I look." 

"Indeed," Voldemort replied, not seeming at all amused. "I would be very grateful if you could perhaps help to curtail this habit of his." Draco nodded and slipped through the entrance when Voldemort, seemingly as an afterthought, called out to him through the deep darkness. 

"I would keep that word if I were you. After all, he's the reason I ever let you live!" He laughed then, a high, cold true laugh that was entirely to familiar to Draco. He shuddered and continued on his way. 

He hated to be reminded of that fact, which was of course why Lord Voldemort loved to bring it up as often as possible. Draco himself could not understand why had not allowed the turncoat Malfoy to be tortured and killed. Why oh why had he chosen to have his rival and occasional sex partner to be spared death? 

Draco had indeed asked this of Harry many times, especially after the death of his father Lucius at the hands of Aurors. Draco might have betrayed the family name by fighting, however ineptly considering his cowardly nature, for Dumbledore but Lucius has still been his father and it had hurt the steely eyed and similarly hearted Malfoy more than he would ever care to admit. 

He finally reached the dormitory door and pushed it open to find Harry now lying on his back on the only bed that had been left in the room – the one that Harry had slept in back in his school days. 

"Harry?" Draco whispered tentatively, gently closing the door with a soft click. Harry looked up with a lopsided smile. 

"Looking for me Malfoy? How touching." 

Their old banter had never died, although now it had evolved from insulting into flirtatious and teasing. Harry beckoned Draco to come over and he happily obliged and embraced him with a fierce kiss. They both gave low, animal moans as their tongues danced, simulating the act of love the two would soon be engaged in. 

No doubts, no regrets. Who cared about all the blood spilt before and still being spilt now? There was nothing in that moment but the two of them and that suited them just fine. 

As Harry undressed and watched his lover do the same he thought about why he had chosen to betray everyone, the reasons, the motivation. In fact that was exactly what he had been thinking over when Draco had come in. 

Their lips clashed again, hands explored familiar skin, and they knew the most intimate parts of each other but never grew tired of revisiting them. 

It had in fact been the expectations, the reverence and the high pedestal that came with it and on which Harry had been unwillingly placed upon that had blackened the heart of the Boy Who Lived and changed him into the man he is now – who thought of the once joyful past with distaste and sat quite happily at the right hand of the very wizard who had murdered his parents and attempted to murder him too. 

All those blind worshippers, pathetic little children like the Creeveys, bumbling adults like Arthur Weasley and Hagrid. Harry grimaced as Draco entered him and the two began to make love. All those people who held him in high regard but when it came to any kind of battle with evil these worshipper were nowhere to be seen and Harry was left alone, loneliness was a feeling he was far to intimate with. 

Somehow his adoring supporters had assumed a hero needed no aid, which in any case they were too afraid to give. Utter; make believe crap for the truth was that Harry often desperately craved some kind of help or support, whether emotional or physical. 

Still his heart might never have become to frozen, been so encased in black ice, had his two best friends provided that support as they had always done in the past. However they had chosen instead to discover their love for one another and suddenly completely forgot the existence of their other best friend. 

That had left Harry truly alone and the gathering frost became a sheet of thin ice that grew thicker when he returned to the 'care' of his loathsome relatives and his usual round of abuse from them. 

Although by then, in a way, he had welcomed it, at least it allowed him to feel something. 

"Harder," He growled to Draco who obliged increased the pace of his thrusts. It would hurt a lot, but that was exactly what Harry wanted – pain. He wanted to feel, to the point where he had gained a masochistic fondness for pain, particularly of the sexual variety. 

Finally Draco climaxed. Harry wasn't too far behind. 

When Harry had finally allowed himself to be captured (and tortured – blessed pain again) by Death Eaters, Voldemort had understandably believed it to be a trick whipped up by 'that crooked nose fool' Albus Dumbledore. It had taken a lot to convince the Dark Lord that Harry had made this choice willingly. When he was finally convinced of it after Harry had identified Severus Snape as a spy, something the Professor confessed to himself under Veritaserum and was thusly executed he had decreed that Harry be a spy, as his disappearance would spark to large a search and too much publicity which may eventually lead to his whereabouts being stumbled across. 

So Harry had owled the Weasley family and asked to stay with them for the remainder of the summer and after that stay was over had gone back for his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as if nothing were amiss. 

His heart was now almost has hard and unyielding as that of the one he served. Harry smirked as he drifted off to sleep, the gentle snoring from his lover telling him Draco was already asleep. 

_No regrets...not ever._

~*~*~*~*~ 

WIP. 


	2. The Orpheus

**Descending Orpheus**

**Disclaimer: **Characters are property of J.K. Rowling. Story by me. Harassment by the FBI.

**Author's Note:** I realise that the core idea of this story is not the most original, but this is meant to explore a dark side of Harry hitherto never explored much cannon wise. It's a kind of 'what if?' since I believe J.K.R said Harry would never be tempted to the dark side. I wanted to produce a very interesting and different piece and I hope that you will find it so. 

**Summery:** The war has ended, evil has triumphed and it is not only Voldemort who is reaping the rewards. 

**Rating:** R – Yes, HP/DM slash and implied HP/Voldemort. Implied because it squicks me, although that is actually the intention. If you have any objections whatsoever then leave and don't just leave a flame telling me I'm sick and evil because I will merely look at it, laugh, save it to my computer so I can laugh at it again.

Hermione Granger wrenched open the door to her home with considerable difficulty, as the howling wind and accompanying blizzard of snow seemed to be locked in a cruel battle of wits with her and attempting to force the door back shut. Probably with the hope of locking her out permanently till she froze to death. 

_Ha, you can't get rid of me that easily!_

She struggled into the house and practically dropped right into the nearest squashy chair with an exhaustive sigh. 

"Is that you Hermione?" Called the voice of her husband. 

"Well, it's not Santa Claus." 

Ronald Weasley popped his head around the door that led into the kitchen. "Who?" He asked with a frown. 

"It's another name for Father Christmas Ron," Hermione explained wearily. Ron took in her rather haggard appearance with a look of sympathy. They had managed to escape relatively unhurt from the war and were now part of a resistance network, which Hermione was in charge of and that so far Voldemort didn't seem aware of – or at least, didn't seem to think them a threat in a show of his complete arrogance. It was amazing how life could go on after such horror and yet...not. 

After all, Ron had always thought that when they won the war, Harry would be with them. He withdrew back into the kitchen so Hermione would not see his ugly scowl and deduce what he was thinking of. He hated the mere thought of the boy with the famous scar who had once been his best friend, a person he thought he knew more than anybody else. One of the few distinguishing things he had had at Hogwarts – Ron had known the _famous_ Harry Potter. 

But the cruel joke was that he _didn't_ know him, not at all. 

Sighing deeply he poured out some tea from the pot and brought it into the living room of their somewhat ramshackle house that reminded Ron so much of the house he grew up in, The Burrow. 

"Thanks," Hermione murmured appreciatively as she took her warm drink and cupped her still cold hands around it. Ron seated himself into the chair next to her and began threading his fingers together, wondering whether or not he should ask Hermione a question that had been pestering him all week. 

"Erm...Hermione?" He piped at last, cautiously. 

"Hmmm?" 

"Has erm, well, do they know if well…You-Know-Who is really behind this weather yet?" Hermione shot him a look and Ron flinched, fearing he had enraged his somewhat hot-tempered wife. However Hermione was not angered, merely surprised, as Ron had been the biggest dissenter of that theory. 

"We don't know," She answered quietly. "I'm personally beginning to doubt it, why waste his power on such a frivolous activity?" 

"It makes us all terribly miserable," Ron pointed out. Hermione nodded in agreement. However, she still didn't believe this was Voldemort's doing. Nature had a way of reacting to circumstances and after the horror of the past summer... Hermione shuddered and she and her husband remained silent after that and supped their drinks, both lost in their own separate brooding. 

Draco twitched nervously when he heard a loud scream echo from the dungeons, or what had once been the dungeons and was now Voldemort's personal chambers of torture. He knew Harry would be down there too, and the knowledge made him feel physically ill. It didn't matter which part of the castle he would be in, somehow those screams of terror, pain, horror a whole myriad of human wretchedness would seem to somehow follow him. 

_Or perhaps that is merely my conscience._

He wandered away, heading for his own room, which was located where once the Ravenclaw dormitories had been. It was escape enough for now. Escape from the horror he was far too cowardly to stop. 

Harry walked up out of the dungeons nonchalantly, as if he had not just witnessed the sickening torture of a perfectly innocent Muggle. Harry had long since stopped feeling anything but hate for Muggles, his aunt and uncle had seen to that. 

_And I paid them back_ Harry thought sneeringly. 

One of the ways Voldemort had tested Harry's word about joining him was to force him to watch such brutal torture, thinking that if the boy was deceiving him, he would be both sickened and also inclined to save the suffering souls. At first Harry _had_ been sickened but had hid it very well, his stubborn streak making him stay and watch. 

However, he had never felt truly inclined to save anyone, even when those faces became increasingly familiar... 

Harry past that test, and the next part was a thoroughly logical step; he'd have to torture someone himself. "Kill them, if that is your one darkest desire," the Dark Lord had told him. 

Then he unveiled the victims and Harry had let out an audible gasp... 

He had done it though, no hesitation or anything and Voldemort had indulged in an extremely rare show of delight at this. 

He nodded in acknowledgement as he passed several Death Eaters on his way to his quarters (almost right next to Draco's). He passed the stone gargoyle and scowled at it, it would always remind him of Dumbledore and Harry despised the memory of that foolish old man, who had manipulated a young boy because he couldn't fight the battle against Voldemort himself. 

Or at least, that was how Harry saw it. As he had felt more isolated he had felt more cynical until eventually, everything seemed jaded to Harry, still did. 

He climbed a winding staircase and reached what appeared to be a blank wall. Harry took out his wand, tapped the very central brick and murmured something. The wall slid back to reveal an entrance to a long corridor that at once upon a time been decked out in dark blue hangings but was now utterly stripped and bare. 

Harry knew what the decorations had looked like not only because he'd been there when they'd stripped and destroyed but also because he'd actually attempted several times to sneak in there and talk to Cho Chang, the girl he thought he'd loved, an idea that was entirely laughable to Harry. 

_What does that matter now, she's old meat, let her rot._

Harry found his room and lay on his bed without bothering to undress, one arm lying over his face. He knew at some point that Draco would join him; he rarely slept in his own allocated room. Although they did not officially share a room (Voldemort's generosity did not stretch that far where Draco was concerned – he'd let him live on Harry's request but sharing a room with him was completely out of the question). 

He gently drifted off to sleep without meaning too. When Draco came in and saw Harry there asleep he had to clamp back a gasp – he looked so beautiful...and innocent. It was alluring even if it was a deceptive illusion. It had been a very long time since Harry had been anything close to innocent. 

Draco walked over and saw his face a bit more clearly. His arm had slid slightly down and was not obscuring as much of his face as it was before Harry had fallen asleep. Draco saw that while Harry was very handsome that there were also lines etched under his eyes, the mark of both hardship before he'd turned and all the fighting that had gone after that. It made him look so much older than has was. 

_Not that I look much better._

At one time the very idea of Draco being disheveled would have had the whole of Hogwarts in gales of laughter – it was simply that absurd a thought. Malfoy always had every strand of silver blond hair _exactly_ where it was ordered to be and he had always made doubly sure it never came out of place. It was no secret that he was incredibly vain, but what would you expect from a boy whose mother was called Narcissa? 

Draco allowed himself a self-mocking smile as he remembered this. He lay down beside Harry carefully so that he would not disturb him, closed his eyes and tried to forget what once was. Remembering the past could not change the future after all. 

Hermione stared around at those that had gathered for the meeting. Most of them she knew from Hogwarts, some she had met after the war and the reign of human misery had begun in earnest. But all had suffered equally and therefore not prepared to lie down and let Voldemort rule over them just yet. 

She cast an eye over them, identifying them one by one – There was the remainder of Ron's family, both his father Arthur and brother Bill had been killed. There was Dean Thomas, who had lost his best friend Seamus Finnegan, Parvati Patil, who'd lost her twin sister and so many more. Hardly any of the teachers remained, as they had almost all been wiped out when Voldemort had taken Hogwarts after he had won the actual final battle and killed Dumbledore. Only two of them were here – Professor Serena Sinistra (who'd lost her husband Chit) and Professor Veronica Vector. Both were content to let Hermione lead them, as through her association with Harry Potter she had learned quite a lot about fighting the dark side. 

She shuddered at that, but nevertheless it was the truth. Sinistra and Vector were both people very much absorbed in their professional areas (Astronomy and Arithmancy) and really weren't too skilled when it came to actual fighting and their survival had more to do with blind luck, as Sinistra had even admitted herself to Hermione 

Hermione shot sparks out of her wand to get everyone's attention and cleared her throat importantly. 

"As usual," She began, "I have good news and bad news to give to you all. Firstly, the bad news – I'm afraid our attempts to find a way to communicate with someone I am certain would help us inside the castle are still not getting anywhere. He Who Must Not Be Named seems to have prepared well for such things. However I won't give up trying." A smattering of cheering and clapping greeted that. 

"The good news is that we have successfully halted a recent attempt to gain control of Diagon Alley – it is still a safe place for now but no doubt You-Know-Who will try again." More enthusiastic cheering and clapping greeted this. Hermione couldn't help but smile a little. Voldemort may not think them a threat yet, but one day he would come to fear the name Orpheus just as much as they currently feared his. 

Hermione would never let those involved with Orpheus (the name the resistance group went under) come to any harm – this wasn't just about taking down Voldemort, it was about revenge for the worst kind of betrayal any could suffer from a friend who had once been closer than a brother to her. 

Both she and Ron had made a vow – Harry was going to pay for what he did to them and wizarding world in general. 

Pay very dearly. 


	3. Dead Things

**Descending Orpheus**

**Disclaimer: **Characters are property of J.K. Rowling. Story by me. Harassment by the FBI.

**Author's Note:** I'll try and keep this as short as i can, but i have a bit to say so bare with me, or just skip straight to the story i don't care which! I noticed some comments about some of you not thinking Draco is trustworthy. Mmm, we'll see. I can't express how great an experience from a fan point of view it is to explore the characters like this. I'm really enjoying it, particularly in regards to Harry. Hope you all are enjoying it too (and if not, tell me why. All constructive criticism is welcome, it only can make me a better writer after all). 

**Summery:** The war has ended, evil has triumphed and it is not only Voldemort who is reaping the rewards. 

**Rating:** R

_The first time we made love, I: I wasn't sober.  
(And you told me you loved me over and over!)  
How could I ever love another, when I miss you every day:  
  
remember the time we made love in the roses?  
(And you took my picture in all sorts of poses!)  
How could I ever get over you, when I'd give my life for yours? _

**_Lucky ~ Bif Naked_**

At 3 am that morning, Draco finally abandoned any further attempt at sleep. Slumber had teased him like an unfaithful lover, warming him with its nearness but then retreating again and leaving him cold. 

He climbed quietly out of bed so as not to wake the still sleeping Harry and wandered out of the room, not really taking much notice of where he was heading. The corridors were icy cold and the wind howled angrily. He paused by a window and looked out over the expanse of snow outside. The grounds looked exactly as they had done for a month now, only the snow was considerably thicker. However, it was no longer snowing now. 

Turning his gaze to the sky, Draco saw that it was clear and that the stars twinkled happily in the vast expense of black. He had never really liked Astronomy that much, as he had seen the midnight lesson every Wednesday as an interruption at his attempts to snatch as much 'beauty sleep' as possible. Or at least, that had been his complaint officially; the actual reason was that it meant that he couldn't see Harry on those nights. 

_Harry_. 

Draco reminisced on how much he had loathed Harry Potter, loathed him beyond all reason in fact. But then, he had hated everything that was not like him and therefore opposing of both himself and his opinions and beliefs. He still did hate such things and sometimes he still hated Harry. The past summer had been hard on him as well…choosing a side he thought he never would go to no matter what and then being spared death when he would have welcomed it with arms outstretched. 

How had hatred turned to love? Draco supposed it was all down to the passion at the very centre of these extremities of feeling. That core was almost identical in each case and both very able to tip one way or the other. Passion had led to an obsession and obsession to fierce desire. 

Yes, the high and mighty Slytherin found himself wanting Harry Potter. And Harry Potter wanted him right back. Isolated and used by all those around him, Harry had tried to find some way of focusing his anger, frustration and pain and Draco Malfoy had been an obvious target. 

Those times, the first, they had never been loving or caring with one another. It was all about venting frustration and claiming dominance – every night saw one of them regain their crown only to lose it the next time. 

Both had needed that closeness. It had in short, made them feel alive. Set them on fire. Sometimes, Draco thought he preferred that animalistic version to now – it had seemed more just really, considering their feelings for one another. More fitting. 

And it hadn't made him a prisoner. 

Suddenly, he thought he heard footfalls and the slither of a cloak nearby and Draco immediately slipped away. He wasn't feeling up to any confrontations tonight…this morning. 

When he slid back into bed, Harry turned over to look at him. Draco tried to make his face look neutral, unreadable, but Harry seemed to see something wrong there anyway and his face suddenly looked rather hard. He could be exceptionally difficult when he was annoyed or angry and Draco knew immediately that he was a mixture of both of those at this moment. 

"Where did you go?" He ground out. 

Draco shrugged, inwardly wondering when exactly he had lost his ability to hide his real self. Ok, he had been a sneering little snot-rag at school and that had always showed, but it didn't exclude him from having feelings he didn't want anyone to see sometimes either. 

The shrug was evidently not enough, and Harry now sat up in bed and glared, his pretty green eyes seemed to have glazed over, as if covered in a mild but bitter frost. 

_Frost. Ice. When did Harry Potter become a colder mortal than a Malfoy? _

"I couldn't sleep. I went out to stretch my legs. Last time I checked, that wasn't some sort of crime against the Lord's _wonderful_ regime!" He knew immediately he'd said the wrong thing. Harry's eyes flashed dangerously, and with incredible speed he had reached over, grabbed Malfoy and pinned him underneath himself. He was breathing heavily, his breath surprisingly warm for someone so chilled, right down to his very bones. 

"How _dare_ you say that? How dare you be so insolent!" 

"How dare I? HOW DARE I? In case this slipped your notice Potter, that…_thing_ wanted to kill me! Forgive me if I don't exactly feel the love for him just yet!" Draco spat back, never one to back down from a fight, even if the odds were highly stacked against him. 

Harry laughed, a laugh that was completely devoid of mirth. It reminded Draco uncomfortably of Lord Voldemort's laugh, although not as chillingly and unnaturally high-pitched. He leaned forward so he was looking directly into the blonde's silver eyes and said, in a deathly whisper, "I can always change my mind about that, you know. I could easily say I have no use for you anymore and – " Harry snapped his fingers there and laughed again. 

Then he kissed him. But it was a horrible kiss, filled with hate and spite, the kind of kisses they used to share, once upon a time. 

Finally, Harry let Draco up; he turned his back on him and went back to sleep as if nothing had happened. Draco, on the other hand, remained awake still, trying to fight off a humiliating feeling, a pricking at the inside corners of his eyes. He knew from experience that you never, ever let Harry know he's won. It invited only more pain if past experience were anything to go by. 

It was such times as these that Draco felt his old, burning hatred for Harry Potter return. He turned his eyes briefly to Harry's strong back, eyes blazing with the kind of killer stare he could never use openly. 

Right now, he _despised_ Harry Potter. 

Running her hand through her once unruly but now merely curly hair, Hermione Granger rubbed her eyes and stared absently at the clock on the wall. 3:30 AM. No wonder the words on the parchment had started running together and now made absolutely no sense at all. She had never been fool enough to believe bypassing Voldemort's defences would be easy but perhaps vestiges of her old snobbish confidence still clung to her because Hermione had never reckoned on it being _this_ hard. 

There was also the small matter that _if_ she succeeded in her plan, the one she wished to contact would have no interest in helping Orpheus. A cold and extremely proud individual like that was just as likely to slam the proverbial door in her face as not.

_But_, Hermione thought,_you shall never know until you actually try_. It had always been her motto and one that Hermione was trying to instil in the members of Orpheus. Ron, whom she had practically persecuted with the motto at Hogwarts, was far more receptive of it. Some of the other members, Hermione felt, seemed to be really there to reassure themselves that they were doing _something_in the way of resistance to Voldemortand not because they really held out any actual hope of success. 

She was looking to change that. 

Finally giving up on her work for the night, or day as the case in fact was, Hermione put the parchment down (feeling a great sense of relief when she did so) and headed to bed. Ron was fast asleep already and she smiled when she gazed upon his serene face. He looked so much younger and carefree. It reminded her very strongly of more innocent, happier days...and that there was nothing but nightmares awaiting them in the future. 

It was all Hermione could do to stop herself from weeping for what they'd all lost. 


	4. The Killer in Me

**Descending Orpheus**

_The Killer in Me._

Harry tried to keep his face as neutral as possible, but he already knew he was not doing a very good job of it as he listened to what Lord Voldemort was telling him. 

All in all though, Harry couldn't say he was very surprised. Hermione Granger was nothing if not tenacious and he also knew that she would never give up fighting as long as there was the vaguest trace of hope around. 

Proving what a pathetically foolish and deluded Mudblood she really was. 

"I see," Harry, said when Voldemort finished. "I should have guessed she'd do something like this, but no matter. Their only strength it seems is Granger herself." 

"I suspected as much. From what you have told me of her she is rather talented. For a foul, female Mudblood at any rate," The Dark Lord murmured thoughtfully. Harry hadn't missed the purposeful hint Voldemort had flung into those words – Harry hadn't actually told him all that much about Hermione at all. He'd never desired to, feeling the acknowledgement of any kind of personal connection between himself and her was far too much of a compliment for Hermione. 

_If I do say so myself. _

"Be that as it may, I'll have them watched carefully. No need to let any loose cannons rock the boat now, is there?" 

"No my Lord." There was a pause. Voldemort was stood in front of a fire in what was probably once a teacher's office, but now a study of some sort for the Dark Lord. It was a surprisingly welcoming room, decked in dark greens and blues and Harry rather liked it. 

"Is that all?" he asked of his master. Voldemort turned and nodded and then frowned, appraising the room with a puzzled look. 

"Where is Nagini?" He asked. Harry thought he was rather over fond of that dratted snake but wisely kept his own counsel on that matter. Besides, Nagini had helped his Lord's rebirth so it made sense that Voldemort might feel somewhat attached to her. 

"I don't know," Harry replied shortly. Voldemort gave him a searching look. He had that one ability that made Harry feel as though he were being X-Rayed. The only other person to have possessed that particular gift had been one Albus Dumbledore. 

"You do not like her?" Hissed the Dark Lord, a note of disapproval clearly evident. 

"I don't think she likes _me_," Harry snapped defensively. "She seems very suspicious of me because I can speak Parseltongue like you." Voldemort scowled deeply at the way Harry had spoken, causing Harry to grip the arms of the chair he was sat in tensely. He got away with a lot more than the Death Eaters ever could but that didn't mean he was never punished for insubordination. 

Fortunately, Voldemort did not punish him. He dismissed him and that was that. 

He walked the corridors carefully, wondering what would happen if it would come down to a fight between him and his former friends. Harry found himself relishing the chance. The chance to show them what he really was, what he was really capable of...they had never had any idea then and probably still wouldn't now. Hermione was frankly over confident and Ron was just...useless. 

A tall, lithe figure stepped out in front of him and Harry, attention elsewhere, almost ran into the person. He looked up to see whom he had almost collided with and saw it was Narcissa Malfoy. She looked at the ebony haired young man coolly – it was always hard to discern what the ice maiden was actually thinking, a gift Draco had once possessed but apparently had lost at some point. 

_I broke it, I broke him._

Harry had never really interacted with her that much, mostly because they utterly despised each other. When Narcissa had discovered her son's orientation, which she had been disgusted by, that had pretty much dashed any possibility of friendship between her and Harry since he was the object of Draco's affection. 

And speaking of... 

"Have you seen my son at all?" She asked sharply. 

"No." The corner of her mouth twitched. He was getting to her and he was really enjoying doing so. 

"Do you have any idea where he is?" 

"Probably laying naked in my bed waiting for me to come and ravish him," Harry goaded, achieving the desired effect. Narcissa practically bared her teeth at him and strode off, no doubt convinced that Harry's answer was truthful. 

_I wish._

Draco had been very distant with him after what had happened several nights ago. It was a little harsh but it seemed Draco assumed he could do what he wanted and Harry wouldn't question it. He could not allow that, he was in charge of their relationship, such as it was. 

Surely that night had made him receive that message loud and clear and it was natural that Draco would resent it – he wasn't a submissive person. 

_And neither am I_. 

On a sudden impulse Harry wandered off on a Draco-hunt of his own. 

_Might as well see if he's got over it._

At one time Harry may have loved Draco. Fleetingly at any rate. He was not entirely sure, as he had purposely blocked a lot of his earlier, happier memories as he found them useless and distracting. Still, Harry knew at one point, despite the violence and the hatred that had started it all, he had felt something very warm and pleasant for the former Slytherin. 

However, whatever it had been, it was long gone now. And Harry wasn't looking to rediscover such feelings any time soon. Or ever. 

Draco was his possession, something he could use. That was all. 

_The most beautiful possession I've had,_ Harry mused as he slid in to Draco's allotted bedroom that he hardly ever used. His mother was already there and Harry tried to hide his annoyance that she had found him first. Mother and son sat on the bed staring at the intruder; apparently Harry had interrupted an absorbing conversation. A serious one if the strained look on Draco's pointed face, which was paler than normal, was anything to go by. 

After a very uneasy silence Narcissa said firmly, "I shall speak to you in the morning." She then left, giving Harry a frosty stare from her ice blue eyes as she went. Still he had to hand it to her, she was a smart woman. 

She knew exactly why Harry had come up here. 

Draco apparently wasn't too sure. 

"What is it?" The blond man asked rather tiredly. Harry did not like that tone. 

He closed the door firmly and padded over to the bed, Draco's eyes watching his every move. Harry sat down on the bed, took hold of the right side of Draco's pale cheeks firmly and pulled him in to a very forceful kiss. Draco held back a wince at the uncomfortable familiarity of such a kiss, but thankfully there was no hate and spite this time. 

Finally Harry pulled away and smiled as Draco fought to catch his breath. 

_Gasping, I like him gasping._

A mad urge struck Harry forcefully. He threw Malfoy back onto the bed and straddled his body, effectively trapping the beautiful blond young man beneath him. Draco wasn't unduly alarmed, to put it mildly Harry often liked it rough, but there was a glint in those wondrous green orbs that he didn't like. Not at all. 

Harry locked him in a bruising kiss, one hand holding Draco's cheek again the other snaking up his chest, caressing firmly, occasionally raking the alabaster skin with his fingernails. A couple of times he succeeded in breaking the skin and Draco let out a small hiss of pain. 

No doubt that delighted his lover. 

His hand continued to stroke but curiously it was moving slowly upwards. Malfoy was just wondering about this when he felt Harry's hand clamp tightly around his throat, choking off his air supply. 

"Stop it!" He managed to eek out, but Harry only let out a gasp of semi maniacal laughter. Draco struggled but knew in his heart it was a lost cause. Harry was strong and he wasn't. 

The last thing he saw before he passed out was Harry's eyes. 

They looked dead, just as Draco assuredly was. 


	5. Traitor

**Descending Orpheus**

_**Traitor**_

**Author's Notes:** Yes, this is a short chapter, damnit! Bear in mind though, it's also rather vital as it contains the big turning point of this story (which by the way, should soon be drawing to a close). Ok, i'm done.

_It's all about power._

That was one of the first things Harry had come to learn when he had defected to the dark side. That power was what kept you above and ahead of your enemies, if you used it wisely. To hold the power of life or death over another was the greatest and most satisfying power that one could ever wield. 

To one like Harry Potter, who had always felt his life was so horribly out of control when he was younger and a whole lot stupider than he was now, it was a wonderful feeling to actually find himself in control for a change. Not only was he in control of his life at last, he was in control of others. 

And he loved it. 

He had chosen to spare Draco. He had realised just as the young man lost consciousness that he would, much as he hated to admit, miss having him around. 

Of course the big draw back of this decision was that Draco now wouldn't even look at him. They had slept together since (it wasn't as if Draco could refuse after all) but his beautiful partner had been utterly emotionless throughout. 

_He'll get over it. He knows what will happen if he doesn't._

Hermione peered through the gloom of the crowded public house and frowned as the door opened again and a tall, lithe figure stepped in. Even in this pub, populated entirely by those of the wizarding community, the woman stood out a mile. She was expensively dressed and also exceptionally beautiful, if aloof. 

_Just like her son._

The woman squinted around, finally saw Hermione and sailed over with an elegant grace that after the war was now damn near impossible to find. 

"Hermione Granger," The woman said as she drew up to Hermione's table. 

"Narcissa," Hermione responded blandly, not wanting to portray any of her feelings to the Malfoy woman. She felt something a lot like hate building up but reminded herself that she had, after all, agreed to meet her regardless. 

If only for her dear son, most likely. 

The woman took the seat across from Hermione and there was a very strained silence. 

"Why did you agree to come?" Hermione asked, voicing something that had been puzzling her for a while, ever since Narcissa had replied to the message that Hermione had _finally_ been able to slip through to Draco. 

"Because Draco wanted me to." Hermione nodded, exactly what she had suspected. "Obviously you aren't aware of this Miss Granger but even if he had desired to my son cannot help you with your plans against the Dark Lord and Potter." 

Her first thought was to correct the 'Miss' part of Narcissa's addressing of her but stopped short at this little revelation about Malfoy. 

"Why is that?" Asked Hermione, perplexed but very curious. 

"When Voldemort tracked Draco down, he wanted to kill him," Narcissa explained without any trace of emotion. The fact that her son's life had been in danger didn't seem to perturb or upset her in any way. "It was Harry's intervention that stopped him from doing so. Draco owes Potter a life debt for that and I'm sure your former friend was aware of that at the time also." Hermione nodded, inwardly reflecting upon how much Harry had changed since their school days. 

Before he had never been very good at planning ahead, was always far more a spur of the moment type person. 

Now he was cold, calculating and ruthless. She shuddered at the thought. 

In some ways, it made things so much harder. Hermione had hoped that her knowledge of Harry and the way his mind worked from the time they had been friends would provide a certain advantage to her, Ron and the rest of Orpheus. 

This, it now seemed, had been wishful thinking on both her and her husband's part. 

Yet, in other ways, it made things easier. 

Such as, if it came down to a final battle between her and Harry, the fact that she no longer knew this person who called himself Harry Potter would make it far easier for Hermione to...well, _kill_ him. 

Yes, it certainly made the thought of a battle to the death so much easier. She found she didn't like this idea very much. Perhaps, at the back of her mind, Hermione had hoped perhaps to reason with Harry. 

She knew now that this would be an impossible waste of time. 

Hermione continued to talk with Narcissa and gather information from her. 

Already in the back of her mind a plan was forming. 

Draco paced the Entrance Hall to the castle, eyes sweeping the area around him. Inwardly he knew he looked guilty as sin by doing so but right now he didn't care. He just wanted his mother to come back safe. 

He wanted to know what Granger was going to do. He had to know. 

A part of him felt deeply ashamed at going behind his lover's back like this, to plot his death (no need to ignore that obvious fact). But another part barked at him that this was the same lover who not only had tried to kill him just for a sick kick simply because he had the power to do so, but also the same lover who, when the fancy struck him, shared his bed with a person who was barely human. 

The thought almost made Draco retch. 

The doors creaked open and a cloaked figure entered. With a gentle grace it lifted off the hood and Draco breathed a somewhat too audible sigh of relief. 

"Come with me," His mother murmured. 

"I have much to tell you." 

**Author's Notes (updated)**: Well, i have some bad news for anyone who was hoping to see this story finished - the outlook is pretty bad. This story has simply not worked out as well as i had hoped it would and i have no plans at the moment of continuing it. Possibly i might re-write it more to my satisfaction in the future but in the meantime i would chalk this one up as being unlikely to ever be finished. I am really sorry and will understand if your pissed off with me however it cannot be helped. 


End file.
